Little Miss Marionette(CreepyPasta)

Fuck

((This chapter gets really, really gay.))

((and edgy.))

(like me)

((but like I don't think I can convey to you just how gay this chapter is without you reading it))

((so read.))

((ps. I forgot Taboo existed for a while but he's back kinda sorta yea))

As the front door closes behind me, I miserably grunt. I still hold my hip and hope that the bleeding will stop soon while I drag myself into the living room and stare at everyone, waiting for them to notice the mess that I have become in the few short hours I was gone. Dad is the first to notice, and starts to freak out.

"Oh, my lord! Marie, dear, what happened to you?! Were you attacked?" He teleports over to me immediately, grabbing my wrist for vital signs, checking my forehead for a temperature and looking into my eyes to see if I've somehow gone blind.
I smile at his worrying, "Dad, I'm fine. Well, I mean, I did get shot-- sort of."
"You GOT SHOT?!" He asks frantically. "E.J! Help Marie tend to her wounds!" He orders with his leading voice.
E.J groans dramatically and is about to reply with something like a sarcastic "Sure!" when Hoodie interrupts him.
"I've got this boss, E.J is better with wounds from sharp objects, I'm better with bullet wounds."
"Ah, right. Thank you, Hoodie."
"It's part of my job description." Hoodie jokes as he gets off the couch. He makes his way over to me and gets on one knee. "Hop on, pip squeak."
"Whoop!"

I climb on Hoodie's back and hold on tightly as he picks me up and carries me to the medical room. It's basically like a really big bathroom with more medical supplies.

Medical supplies that Nurse Ann and Dr. Smiley often use to kill their victims. Oh well! Still usable!

I climb off Hoodie's back and sit on the medical table. It's cold, and I wish I were wearing my pyjamas with little Yin Yang's on them. Those pj's are really comfy, but instead I just sigh while Hoodie gathers supplies. He looks back at me and asks, "You were shot in the hip, right?"
I nod. "Yup."
"Story?"
"Okay, okay, so, I met up with my imposter, but the police came and tried to capture us, so we fled to the roof. That's when she got caught and told me to leave."
"Okay? So?"
"So I jumped off the building and a policewoman shot blindly down at me, and well, hit."
"Nice."
"Thank you, good sir."

He finishes getting everything he needs and turns back to me with all of it. He sets everything down on the table next to me.
"Okay, shirts off, or at least out of my way."
"Kay."

I take off my jacket and raise my striped shirt to the point where it sits an inch or so above the wound. First, he disinfects it with alcohol, which hurts like a buttcheek on a stick. I hiss and curl my hands into fists, holding them so tight that my knuckles start to turn white. Knowing this is my normal reaction to alcohol on an open wound (and a normal person's reaction in general), Hoodie carries on knowing I'm okay. I mean it'd be nice of him to console me, but he's not really the "Oh-my-god-are-you-okay-"-every-two-minutes kind of person. He never has been, but he does care, and I appreciate that.

Thankfully the bullet just shot through the flesh a bit (and my clothes) and wasn't lodged in my side, so the next thing to do was put some gauze on it and wrap it. Once he's done, he and I make haste back to the living room and veg out on Cheetos until 4am while watching episodes of Voltron on Netflix.

Next thing I know, it's daylight again and I'm waking up soundly in my own, messy bed with Taboo sleeping adorably on the end of it. I moan and pat around on the covers and blankets to try and find my iMiguffinThing. Eventually I stumble upon my iPod that was charged in and on my bedside table. Pressing the home button while a yawn escapes my lips, I notice almost instantly that, once again, I have several messages. I take quick notice as to how they're all from Dylan, and that he's asking how last night went.